


Day Three: "You're drunk"

by charis_chan



Series: SanversWeek2k17 [3]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: "You're drunk", Alcohol Abuse, Angst, F/F, I'm Sorry, Past Sanvers, SanversWeek, day three, drug abbuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 13:20:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11253783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charis_chan/pseuds/charis_chan
Summary: The first time you saw her… it was not a pretty picture.Light white dusting under her nose, bloody eyes, unsteady walking, strong alcohol smell, long, messy hair.The first time you saw her she was flirting shamelessly with anything that moved. After the fifth shot you saw her dawn (you had no idea how many she had before those), you saw her stumbling around, dancing, grinding into whoever would let her, rubbing herself all over them, invading their spaces, stealing fiery kisses, luring them in.The first time you saw her, she led three men on three different occasions, to the bathrooms. They spent there enough time for you to know exactly what they were doing. She would come back way after the men left and head straight to the bar. She would order another shot, she would get back to the dance floor, she would start the whole process again.The first time you saw her, you were drawn to her, to her wilderness, to her fierceness, to her passion, to her recklessness, to her beauty. You knew there was no way she was paying attention to you, she favored men all the time, and she would push away any woman that came too close…





	Day Three: "You're drunk"

**Author's Note:**

> Day three of SanversWeek!!!
> 
> This time around there's angst, heavy angst involved. (I blame @queercapwriting)
> 
> Betalove to @reinakonanofate for being her amazing self that cried her eyes out making sure this emotional mess is readable.

 

The first time you saw her… it was not a pretty picture.

Light white dusting under her nose, bloody eyes, unsteady walking, strong alcohol smell, long, messy hair.

The first time you saw her she was flirting shamelessly with anything that moved. After the fifth shot you saw her dawn (you had no idea how many she had before those), you saw her stumbling around, dancing, grinding into whoever would let her, rubbing herself all over them, invading their spaces, stealing fiery kisses, luring them in.

The first time you saw her, she led three men on three different occasions, to the bathrooms. They spent there enough time for you to know exactly what they were doing. She would come back way after the men left and head straight to the bar. She would order another shot, she would get back to the dance floor, she would start the whole process again.

The first time you saw her, you were drawn to her, to her wilderness, to her fierceness, to her passion, to her recklessness, to her beauty. You knew there was no way she was paying attention to you, she favored men all the time, and she would push away any woman that came too close…

… Yet…

… even from a distance, you could see the longing in her eyes. How she’d follow the women with lust filled, hungry eyes. How she, drunk out of her ass, incapable of thinking straight, would push down it all.

The first time you saw her… it marveled how she was so strong and so determined to deny herself and instead seek pleasure with men.

So, no. The first time you saw her wasn’t a pretty picture at all.

And years later, you couldn’t help but feel you were robbed of something so precious that night, looking from a distance to that wild girl – for she was no woman, she was a girl – you were entranced and hooked. But she believed herself straight and you were in the fallout of a nasty breakup. It was not the time for pursuing anything.

The first time you saw her sober… it wasn’t at a party. The first time you saw her sober you weren’t in town just for the weekend, just to have some fun, just to forget about home for a little bit.

No.

The first time you saw her sober, it was in an airport after some rogue alien tried to kill the leader of the free world.

The first time you saw her sober, her hair was short, her clothes pristine, her spine straight, her eyes clear…

The first time you saw her sober, she sparred verbally with you in such a refreshing way you were gone instantly.

The first time you saw her sober, you didn’t buy the FBI act. You didn’t believe she was a stiff collar and poor social skills… if anything, you’d regarded her as CIA, but you knew that was not the case either.

The first time you saw her sober, you saw that spark in her eyes that made you think she was, indeed, denying herself.

The first time you saw her sober, you promised yourself you’d keep her close one way or another.

And you did.

It didn’t take you long to realize who Alexandra Danvers is.

It didn’t take you long to fall in love with the woman that Supergirl looks up to.

It didn’t take you long to discover her tells, her little quirks.

It didn’t take you long to see how delicate she is… even when she’s all tough and brave and selfless and simply amazing.

It didn’t take you long to see how fragile she really is… how words, actions, thoughts, affect her in such a way that she simply shuts down to protect herself, to guard her heart against more pain.

The second time you saw her drunk, just as drunk as she was that first time, drunk enough to make bad choices, drunk enough to not be in control anymore, drunk enough to erase the _agony_ … the second time you saw her suffering, you’d been an ass and you’ve tried to spare her from the pain that’s being near you and she’d gotten her fists bloody and an eye blackened because she couldn’t deal with it all.

Figures she’d be hurt either way. Both emotionally and physically.

Figures you realized she’d be better with your fucked-up-self close even when you’d end up hurting her, really hurting her, sooner or later.

The third time you saw her as drunk, so drunk she forgot herself for a while, it was after she introduced you to both her parents. Her mom kept making references you couldn’t catch, but that tensed Kara and made Alex refill her glass over and over and over and over and over and over again.

That time, though, that time she didn’t do anything stupid like having sex or getting into a fist fight… no… that time she shut down completely and it took you hours of gently coaching her to drink water, to rest. Hours of hushed praising, of gently petting, to get her responsive again.

She’d got better, yes, but it was not until days later that she was back at her former self.

The fourth time you saw her drunk, her dad had just betrayed her and it led to one of the rawest and emotion-filled sex you’ve ever experienced. It was not pretty and your back stung for weeks after that and she limped for days… and the haunted look in her eyes didn’t leave her for months.

She allowed herself to drink that day and no more. And for that you’re grateful.

You could count with one hand, then, the times you’ve seen her at her lowest, at her most intoxicated, at her most open, at her most guarded…

… and you believed that when she was taken, when she almost died, when the nightmares kept you both awake at night, when she couldn’t shower alone, when she sometimes froze and she didn’t take a drink, didn’t try to numb herself, didn’t try to drown – no, not drown, never drown, not after- didn’t try to erase the _pain,_ the _hurt,_ the _fear,_ the _agony_ that maybe it was over that maybe she was coping in other ways that maybe she was adapting differently, that she was getting better, that she was dealing with it healthier.

Yeah, right.

You’d known she’d go back to it. Go back to that reckless girl that put herself at risk in such a way that no one noticed.

No one, but you.

But, you weren’t there anymore, no?

And now, now, well…

Now you are a witness of that party girl you first saw so many years ago.

And it’s your fault.

_Marry me._

_Seriously._

_Marry me._

_Please._

Eleven words.

It only took eleven words to crumble your world.

_No._

_I can’t._

_I’m sorry._

Radio silence for weeks after that.

You miss your favorite leather jacket, the one you kept at her apartment. You miss Diana, the sole bonsai you decided you could leave on her table. You miss her enormous bed, where you got to sleep nightly for months. You miss her brand of coffee, less bitter than your usual, a blend Kara gets for her monthly from Vietnam. You miss the dreadful painting she keeps in her living room, the one that you can’t decide if you hate or feel sorry for.

And you miss her, you miss her dearly, but you aren’t ready to commit at such level. It’s too soon. It’s too fast. It’s too much.

And so, radio silence.

Until you see her again, in the very same bar you saw her that first time.

Until you see the white under her nose, the bloody eyes, the unsteady walking, the short, messy hair.

Until you see her flirting shamelessly with anything that moved. Until you saw her stumbling around, dancing, grinding into whoever would let her, rubbing herself all over them, invading their spaces, stealing fiery kisses, luring them in.

Until you see her exiting the bathroom minutes after the man that she brought in.

Until you decide it’s enough and go meet her at the bar after she drowns her seventh shot of the night.

“Alex!” you call into her ear, the loud music preventing any kind of soft conversation. “You need to stop!”

You’ve never told her to stop… at least not directly.

But today, today is just too much. Today you’re reminded of all the times you saw her like this, you’re reminded of that first time and you’re reminded how she got better, with you by her side to take a little of the pressure off… you’re reminded, even when you are sure it wasn’t just you, but all her family – they were your family too, but then you _had_ to walk away – that she was better by your side, that she was better with you, that she didn’t drink as much, that she simply was happier, healthier, better.

“Maggie!” Damn secret agent, she’s more alcohol than blood and her speech isn’t slurred and her eyes are focused. You don’t want to know what kind of training they give their agents if they can act sober when you know, you _know,_ she’s tip-toeing into an overdose. “Fancy seeing you here!”

Yes. She’s too far gone.

Last time she saw you she was in tears, she was heartbroken, she was simply broken.

Last time she saw you she wished you luck, she kissed you once, she turned her back on you, she left you.

No. Last time she saw you, _you_ were the one that left her, you were the one turning your back on her, you broke her, you made her cry, you _abandoned_ her.

“You’re drunk!” you tell her because you know that if she wasn’t… if she wasn’t, she’d be gone already… she’d look at you and she’d cry and she’d give you those doe eyes that scream agony and she’d smile and she’d leave after a soft greeting and a polite inquiry about your work, your health, your day.

She wouldn’t beam at you as she’s doing right now.

“No, I’m not!” she yells to be heard over the deep bass.

“Yes, you are!” You can’t help but smile at her sudden pout… that pout that you’ve kissed away on more than one occasion. She looks like a petulant child that didn’t get another scoop of ice-cream.

“No! I’m not!” she yells again, throwing her arms around your neck. “If I were, I wouldn’t be seeing you here!”

You steady her, hugging her around the waist, confused. “What do you mean?!” you ask her, ignoring the warmth that spreads in your chest at her closeness and the sudden, overwhelming, crushing realization of how much you’ve really missed her.

You’re equally glad and devastated that she’s so drunk her tongue is loose.

“When I’m sober, every time I close my eyes I see you! Every time I breathe I smell you! Every time I move I feel you!” she tells you easily, with a smile. “I’m seeing you, smelling you, feeling you, ergo I’m sober!”

You want to laugh at her stupid logic, but you’re not surprised when her triumphal expression crumbles and she’s looking at you in concern. Her hand goes to your cheek, brushing away your tears. “Why are you crying, love?!”

You can’t help but hide your face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her smell. Yes, she smells like bourbon and sex, but she also smells like Alex, sweet, woody and somehow like rain.

God, you’ve missed her.

“I love you,” you murmur against her skin and you feel her arms hugging you more tightly.

God, you really love her.

“Come!” you tell her after a moment of weakness. After a moment of simply basking in her. “You’re drunk! I’m taking you to Kara!”

“No! Tell me what’s wrong first!”

“I’ll tell you on the way!”

You know as soon as she’s out the place, as soon as she lets her body rest for a couple of minutes, she’ll be out. She’ll pass out way before you reach Kara’s apartment.

It’s good you chose not to delete Little Danvers’s contact… you will call her as soon as you have Alex in the taxi.

God… how stupid you were? Letting this woman go.

But.

It’s too late now.

You’ve hurt her and you’ve made her feel like if she wasn’t important to you, like she wasn’t worth the effort.

How stupid you were.

How stupid you still are.

“Love you Mags,” she mumbles as she lets her head rest on your shoulder, seconds before she passes out.

“Love you too, Alex. Love you too.”

God… how stupid you are.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on tumblr @charsis-chan :/


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